


Odi et Amo

by LokianaWinchester



Series: Carmen 85 [1]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, Because of John's feelings, Bottom!Paul, First Time, Friends to Lovers, How the hell did I write smut, I'm not sorry, M/M, Paul gets hurt, Smut, a bit of violence, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7407739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Lennon/McCartney deal with feelings. 1965. On Tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It took me a year to complete this. I changed a lot and there is smut now. I hope there aren't too many mistakes. If you find any, please do tell.

“Hey, Macca” John. It had to be John. They couldn’t have sent George or Ringo.

“Yeah?” Paul replied. He figured there was no use in hiding. They’d find him sooner or later. He’d have to face it sooner or later. And the sooner he was distracted from his own thoughts the better. God knows he needed distraction.

“Paulie?” John asked almost hesitantly. Paul didn’t think he had ever heard hesitance in John’s voice. He snapped back into reality. Paulie. The sound of his name spoken in such a soft manner, sent shivers down Paul’s spine

“You alright?” John asked, clearly concerned. Why did he sound concerned? He had no reason to worry.

  
Paul sighed. _No I’m not bloody alright, John. You want to know why? Because you..._ He couldn’t let himself think that. Not to mention say it out loud. He sighed again.

“‘m fine, John,” he finally muttered. He was not. And although he hated lying to John he knew the other man wouldn’t stop asking what it was if he did.

“C’mon then. The others are already waiting” John lightly patted on his shoulder as he exited the changing room and led the way out to their car.

_…because you make me desire things I never thought of before. You make me want things._ His head provided the rest of the sentence as he followed John.  
The concert had been good. Up to the point when Paul had sung “Yesterday” and John had shot him a wink. That wink had been nothing out of the ordinary. It was normal for John to just go goofy at once and then be his normal cocky self again in a matter of seconds. That behaviour had intensified though. Over the last weeks Paul hadn’t known what to think of the unusual manners John showed. Winking at him, smirking, almost checking him out, Paul admitted to himself. When he found John staring at him and then winking he had tried hard to conceal his feelings. He had felt something for John for some time now but with John’s mockery it became much more difficult not to get flustered too often.

Paul’s voice had cracked and he felt shaky on his legs for the resto of the show but he managed to pretend being in a good mood for the rest of the concert and quickly excused himself after.

Paul and John shared a hotel room like they often did so as soon as they reached the hotel Paul headed to his room – which fortunately they didn’t share, unlike it had been the case in Hamburg often enough.

He felt himself being pulled deep into memories of times when his life hadn’t been as difficult. Paul had always felt deep friendship for John, though when that had turned into something else he couldn’t pinpoint. They had been best buddies, pals, maybe soul mates strictly platonic but still closer to each other than to anybody else. Of course Paul still liked girls and he seldomly shied away from sex with one bird or another but recently – noticeably just around the time of his breakup with Jane – he had become aware of just how good looking John really was.

Of course he had known John was quite attractive. More so than himself probably, more masculine; but John also had a special way of charming himself into someone’s heart which didn’t make him any less enticing. Paul had thought he knew John’s ways so good that he would never have expected to get caught in them himself.

And yet when John entered their suite room and turned to lock the door for the night with some difficulty, like always, Paul found himself longing for a kind of intimacy that was just not reserved for him. He heard John’s steps as they made their way towards the bedrooms, expecting them to stop once John had reached his room and settled down, however the footsteps grew louder until they stopped right in front of Paul’s door. A knock – unnecessary since the door was opened right away – sounded and John’s head peeked into his room.

“Ay, Macca, you don’t look so well. You sure it’s only a headache?” John asked and stepped back again.

“‘m fine, John, really. Jus’ need to sleep it off I guess” Paul replied weakly. He really wasn’t in the mood to come up with a better excuse for not spending time with John.

“You gonna shower?” John asked and he really should shower but he couldn’t will himself to get out of bed.

“Tomorrow” he replied. John looked at him sideways before closing the door again and calling a muffled “G’night then”.

* * *

 

“Wake up, you sod” was what Paul woke up to the next morning. He turned and pretended not to have heard it. He avoided several more attempts to wake him up until a pillow smacked square against his head sending him sitting up, wide awake, only to be greeted by John’s usual smirk.

“Morning, sleepy head”

Then the events of the night before came crashing down on him and he noticed how his spirits fell.

“‘s not funny, Lennon” Paul grumbled under his breath as he got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.

“Ay, Macca, what’s gotten into you now? You sure you’re not ill or something?” Why was he so concerned? It was starting to annoy him. John wasn’t supposed to be so … caring. He was supposed to be tough, mean, sarcastic Lennon. Paul didn’t know what to think anymore.

He stepped under the shower and tried to let the water wash away all the thoughts, just relaxing and concentrating on the steady stream of water rushing down his body. When he had finished he put on a shirt and some boxers. He honestly couldn’t be bothered with more. It was too warm outside for his taste anyway.

When he exited the bathroom George and Ringo were fooling around on his bed hitting each other with his pillow and the one he had nicked from John. Paul raised one eyebrow in question when the two of them looked up.

“Fancy seeing you here,” George ended the awkward silence that followed. Ringo snorted and a giggling John looked around the corner of the door frame.

“‘s still my bed.” Paul threw in.

“Right. Thanks for reminding me. I don’t wanna know what you’ve been up to in here.” Ringo shot back, quickly getting up, sending John into a seemingly never ending fit of giggles.

“Ha-ha” Paul said sarcastically. which seemed to quiet everyone down.

“Wow, you’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?” George said after several seconds of silence. “John didn’t exaggerate then, did he?”  
Paul frowned.

“Y’know, John called us over to cheer you up. Guess you really need it” Ringo said.

“I don’t need cheering up. I just need some time to think” Paul shook his head and ran his hand through his damp hair. George slowly stood up and left the room behind Ringo.

“See you later then” he called over his shoulder as he let the door fall shut.

Paul sat down on his bed and attempted to read a book. But the words seemed to dance in front of his eyes and he couldn’t concentrate at all.

“So, what’re you thinking ‘bout?” John suddenly spoke up. “‘s it a bird? Someone pregnant? You gonna be a father?”

“No, nothing like that. Just got up on the wrong foot, I guess. What’s it matter to you anyway?” Paul answered distractedly.

“Well, I’m your best mate, I don’t like to see you down.” John replied honestly but in the next second his mood changed; he cocked his head, made a funny face and said in a high voice “You know I love you. And you can tell me eeev’rything”

Paul snorted. It was true after all; John and he were still best friends. But he was also quite sure it was normal for oneself to see his best buddy fool around and imagine how his slightly crooked teeth would feel against his own in a heated kiss or how they would gently nibble on his lip.  
Paul blushed. He needed to stop thinking like that. He was happy John almost never wore his glasses or he would be teasing him all the time.

“Thanks, Johnny” Paul responded in an equally teasing way, putting his book aside and looked at John who was studying him intensively “Ay, what’re you looking at? You don’t see anything anyway.”

“Just your beauty, James” John grinned at him widely; he knew how Paul hated to be called James.

“Oh shut up, Lennon” Paul laughed. This was how it was supposed to be John Lennon and Paul McCartney doing nothing but fooling around stupidly. It felt right again. Paul felt right again. The nagging thoughts in the back of his mind stayed though. He was definitely attracted to John; that was wrong. Queer people were seen as aberrations, put on a level with the mentally disabled. It made him feel sick. What if he was queer after all and he had only liked girls because everyone else did? What if his mind played tricks on him? Paul took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with this. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he was in love with John. He had just noticed how his friend was really good looking.

* * *

They had a press conference later that day so Paul needed to get dressed at some point although he’d much rather have stayed in only boxers and his t-shirt all day.

The conference itself was pretty much the same as always. The same old questions, same old journalists, same old cameramen. Occasionally Paul glanced at John who as usual seemed to be very amused by his own jokes and the confusion of the reporters afterwards. Why did this have to happen to him? Why did he suddenly get attracted to his best friend? The more he thought about what he liked about John, the more things came to his mind. His humour, his wit, his intellect, his hair, his nose, his arse, hell, his teeth… Paul could go on for hours. He wanted to go on for hours. He wanted to cherish every single one of John’s features he had come to know over the past eight years. At the same time, he felt horrible, an uneasiness had nestled itself in the pit of his stomach and he couldn’t get rid of it. Paul sighed and shook his head as if that would get rid of unpleasant thoughts.

When he glanced at John the next time, the other man was staring back. When he noticed Paul was looking at him as well the corners of his mouth pulled up in a grin while he turned away again, his eyes lingering on Paul for a moment before he averted his gaze as well.

In that moment Paul wanted nothing more than to attack those lips with his own, to wipe the grin off John’s face, to cling to him and to never let him go. But he couldn’t and that thought almost made him cry.

The press conference was over soon enough and they all returned to the hotel. They settled down to play some cards in George’s and Ringo’s room, George won both rounds, lucky bastard, until John decided he wanted to go back to his own room for something to eat. Paul followed shortly after. He was starving.

They had something brought up to their room, settled down on the floor and ate mostly in silence. John wore his glasses for a change and stared at him intently from time to time. Eventually John got up an fetched his guitar. After strumming quietly for a few moments and tuning all the strings he started off into the first verse of “You've got to hide your love away”. Paul thought about the irony of the song and how somehow John seemed to know something was up, still teasing and trying to get a reaction from Paul but that wouldn’t make any sense. John didn’t swing that way and he wouldn’t be so cruel as to mock Paul.

When John stopped playing the room was eerily quiet all of a sudden. Maybe it was just Paul’s imagination but the air seemed to be hotter and there was an uncomfortable tension in the air.

He rose awkwardly and decided to go to bed early and read a little, maybe work on a song if he felt inspired. He went to his room, told John a quick goodnight which the latter responded with a silly grimace and settled down on his bed.

After a little while he drifted off to sleep until he was awoken by a scream. Paul bolted up. Someone had cried out loud.  
Paul quietly got up. Then he heard it again. It seemed to be coming from John’s room. Had that git brought up a girl after Paul had headed off to bed? Even so John usually he kept the noise down though.

When Paul glanced in John’s room he noticed with relief that there was no girl in there. Instead he saw how John turned and shifted in his sleep. The younger man was just about to shut the door again when John cried out.

“No!” Paul jumped back. “Mum, no, please,” John almost sobbed. Paul was confused until he remembered the date. He rushed over to John’s bedside and shook the older man lightly. He didn’t seem to wake up.

“John,” Paul called out lightly when the tossing and turning didn’t stop. “Johnny. It’s alright.”  
John shot up with a gasp and looked around. The expression on his face was so desperate and helpless and not John-like at all and Paul never wanted to have to see it on this face again. Finally, John’s eyes darted towards Paul and he whispered hoarsely.

“She dies, y’know. She dies over and over again” Paul mentally slapped himself. He could have known. No, he should have known. He had been there the day after she’d died, seen how wrecked John was. John’s mum had meant a lot to him as well. And now, seven years after her death he hadn’t even remembered her.

John looked up to him, his eyes red as if he had cried. “Why did she have to die, Paul?” he asked with a shaking voice before his head fell forward and Paul felt the dampness of his tears on his shoulder. The younger man didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around the other. He knew how bad this hit John every time.

“Why?” John sobbed. “Why, why, why, why?” his fists came crashing onto Paul’s back repeatedly. But he held still. He knew he had to, for John’s sake. After several minutes the violent sobbing stopped and John calmed down. However, he clung on to Paul like his life depended on it.

“I’m sorry, Paul,” He whispered after a short time. “I’m so sorry, shouldn’t’ve hit you”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat. John hardly ever apologised for anything and if he did it was either jokingly or in form of a silly gift. This John, who looked at him intently and apologised was new. And Paul seemed to be highly attracted to him.

“‘s alright, John. I know you still miss her,” Paul eventually replied and tried to pull back from the crushing embrace. “Relax, Johnny. I won’t leave”

John sank back into his bed at that, still loosely holding on to Paul’s night shirt. His breathing got more and more even as the minutes passed and Paul found himself lightly pushing the hair from John’s forehead and stroking it back. Soon John was asleep and Paul attempted to get up. As soon as he moved, however, John stirred and whispered groggily.

“Sleep with me, stay.” Paul froze on the spot. There was no way in hell John meant that. So after several long moments he started to pull away again. “Come to bed, Paulie, you’re tired and I hit you, just lay down” John said a bit louder and shuffled over to the other side of the bed.

Paul hesitantly climbed into the bed, still half expecting John to throw him out again and awkwardly lay in the still warm spot where John had laid seconds before until part of the blanket was thrown over him despite the heat. He didn’t dare turn and face John because he doubted he’d be able to handle the inner battle that would come with the existential urge to kiss him. So he settled for closing his eyes and trying not to concentrate on the warm body behind him.

* * *

Several hours later Paul woke up from the bright sunlight that shone through the window. He wanted to turn around to continue sleeping for a little while longer after quickly glancing on his watch and realising that it was only 7 AM but he was held back by an arm that was loosely slung around his waist.

Last night’s events came back, flooding his mind, so that sleeping didn’t seem like an option anymore. Slowly he turned his head to look at John.

The older man’s hair was ruffled and splayed on the pillow his head was nuzzled in. His lashes were resting on his cheeks and his mouth stood slightly agape as he breathed slowly. The blanket covered the bottom half of his body but his upper body was bare because when it was so warm John didn’t usually wear a shirt at night. Paul had always liked how John was built; he was always fit but never ripped or anything, yet especially on his arms and chest there were definitely muscles present.

Paul needed to get up. He needed to clear his head and get away from the temptation to kiss every inch of John’s bare skin he could reach. So he carefully lifted John’s arm and slipped out of the bed. Once he stood and was sure John hadn’t woken up he took a deep breath and made his way towards the door despite the longing to just snuggle back into bed and into John’s embrace.

He didn’t shower because he knew the noise would wake John up so he called room service and ordered breakfast to their room. He wanted to apologise for forgetting about Julia and being all grumpy the day before. Paul realised there was no way he could run away from his inappropriate feelings for the other man. His mates had gotten suspicious the day before so he decided just to live with it and internally beat himself up whenever he needed to.

When room service came and delivered their breakfast, Paul carried the tray into John’s room and put it down in the empty spot where he had slept. Then he went to the other side of the bed and pinched John’s ear. The older man shook his head and buried it deeper into his pillow. Paul noticed with a grin that John had seemingly given up in their fight over pillows and instead of getting his back from Paul had taken one from the couch. He poked John in the side this time and his eyelids fluttered suspiciously as his face scrunched into an adorably stubborn expression. The third attempt finally succeeded when Paul started tickling John and got him to open his eyes and whine about the light.

“Hey, Macca, do you have to be so cruel?” Paul grinned at his victory. He loved this side of John. As rarely as it ever appeared the whining, adorably stubborn John was Paul’s favourite. But he also understood how John’s usual behaviour was somehow a defence mechanism, a wall to protect the sensible, vulnerable lad he was on the inside with wit and jokes.

“Yes, I do. I ordered breakfast.” That got John to sit up.

“Oh, I thought I smelt something” he said, and slipping into his joking, sarcastic self he added “How terribly nice of you, what’s the occasion?”

Paul rounded the bed once again and sat down opposite of John, putting the tray with the food between them.

“I wanted to apologise about yesterday” he started. He knew this was going to be difficult, especially when John had his wall up again. “I was so full of myself and… I forgot. I should’ve realised” He averted his gaze, looking down on his hands.

“It’s alright, Paulie. She wasn’t your mother” John replied surprisingly softly. Paulie.

“I shouldn’t’ve bothered you with me bad mood anyway” Paul objected.

“Really, Paul,” John lightly touched his arm and the younger man’s gaze shot up to meet his. “You don’t need to apologise. Everyone has a bad day sometimes.”

“But-”

“Let’s eat” John proclaimed and grabbed a piece of toast. Halfway through their meal he spoke up again.

“When’d you leave?”

Paul nearly choked on his coffee. He set the cup down before he carefully answered:

“At 7. When I got breakfast”

“So you stayed the night.” Paul blushed and he was pretty sure John noticed. It had been more of an observation than a question but Paul felt he needed to reply anyway.

“I did. I mean you asked me to…” he drifted off.

“Yeah. Thanks for staying, Paul” John said before they went back to eating in silence. When they’d finished, Paul grabbed the tray and carried it out of the room. After that he headed for the shower. As he passed by John’s door the latter was splayed out over the whole bed, still bare-chested and gorgeous, so Paul hurried on or otherwise he would have been tempted to go back into the room and kiss the stupid bastard with his good looks senseless.

But he couldn’t.

After the shower he felt refreshed. He lit a ciggy and went to check on John. The older man sat on the sofa and tuned his guitar when Paul came in. He stood still for a moment, his eyes wandering down John’s barely clothed body. He didn’t notice the latter turning and nearly jumped when he spoke.

“Like what you see?” Paul blushed. Shit. He turned away and from the room. He really needed to get his act together.

* * *

They had a concert that night at the city hall a few towns over from their hotel. They had to be ready by 6PM, so until then Paul tried to avoid John.

Paul knew John liked to tease people but it was getting too much. He was constantly licking his lips and smirking at Paul, making it hard for him not to turn away and blush every time. By the end of the concert he was so frustrated he nearly threw his bass down and cried. But he kept it together and packed his stuff away in silence while George and John fooled around. Ringo came over to him.

“Something’s off, Paul. I know you’re not behaving like you used to” Paul didn’t know how to respond so he stayed silent while he shut his guitar case.

“I don’t wanna be nosy,” Ringo continued “but you know you can talk to me. I won’t judge”

“Yeah, thanks, Ringo. I just don’t think I’m ready yet” Paul quietly replied.

“‘s alright, pal, just take it easy. Try not to worry too much. It doesn’t look good on you"

Ringo left to pack his own stuff together and help Neil and Mal put his drums into the van.

Paul followed them shortly after carrying his bass.

* * *

Back in the hotel Paul went to his room as fast as possible, collapsing on the bed exhaustedly. He heard John come in and shut the door after him. Seconds later the man himself stood in Paul’s door frame.

“Tell us what’s up with you then” he said, moving closer and settling on the edge of Paul’s bed. Paul frowned and shrugged.

“Nothing’” He quietly answered.

“It sure ain’t nothing” John countered. Then he let out a sharp laugh. “Hah, I’d never have expected you to be queer.” Paul visibly winced. “But then with your pretty face I’m sure there are a few lads who’d love to fuck you” he continued, his voice raising. Paul opened his mouth to say something, anything. He wasn’t queer and he knew it. What had come over John? He found the words seemed to be stuck in his throat.

“You know how this will end? When they catch you with another man there’ll be a scandal. You know what that’ll mean for the band?” John said in a suspiciously low voice. Tears came to Paul’s eyes when he attempted to speak again only to be cut off by John, who had risen and stood now, towering over Paul.

“You know what that’ll mean?” he repeated. “You never think about anything than yourself, you bloody queer” John spat. Paul stood up. He was confused like he had never been before. First John’s teasing, now this, he didn’t know what to make of it. So out of nowhere without thinking he followed his instincts and leaned in to plant a firm kiss to John’s lips. The kiss was nothing but a press of lips against lips and yet it felt better than Paul could have dreamed. In that moment he felt the anger, the hurt and confusion mixed together. He wanted nothing but to hurt John back but he couldn’t. If he hurt John, he could never forgive himself.

After a second it was all over. John shoved Paul back so hard his head hit the wall. The younger man’s vision got slightly dizzy as he watched how John left the room and slammed the door shut, muttering “fucking queer” under his breath.

It hurt. Paul could never have imagined anything to hurt so much and so deeply. The pain was so intense that he could almost physically feel it. Eventually he broke down on his bed. He stared into the distance and felt numb. He couldn’t think and he couldn’t move. Time passed in a haze.

Then it hit him like a truck. He had lost John. He had lost the best friendship of his life, a bond, that should have lasted a lifetime over some glances and a blush too much. Over his feelings. Tears flooded his eyes. He had lost John. Once he started crying he couldn’t stop. He quietly cried for all the years of friendship and brotherly love that lay behind them, cried about how he had ruined everything that had ever existed between them. And when his tears slowly dried, the image of John’s face, scrunched and twisted in disgust came to his mind and it hurt so much that he let out a quiet whimper in pain.

The night passed. It always did. But this night had been the worst of his life. He had not slept a second and when dawn came he felt so exhausted he was on the verge of throwing up. He couldn’t bring himself to move though.

He apparently dozed off for a few hours because around eight o’clock he was woken up by his door being slammed open. He sat up straight, fearing John would come in but when his vision stabilised he realised it was George.

“Ay, Paul, do you know-” he stopped. “What happened to you?” he asked concernedly.

Paul considered telling him for a second but when he felt like he was going to cry again he didn’t see why to tell anyone when he couldn’t even think about it. So he settled for a half truth.

“I’m not feeling well” he mumbled hoarsely.

“I can see that” George replied. “You got a temperature? Do you want me to get a doctor?”

Without waiting for an answer he hurried out. Paul suddenly realised that he was still in his slacks and shirt he had worn at the concert the day before. Yesterday.

When his life had not been utterly destroyed. Yesterday when he and John had had breakfast together.

He felt dizzy and saw the room swimming before his eyes. He reckoned it was only tears once again welling up. But after several seconds his world went black and he was floating.

“‘e’s not dead” Paul heard Ringo say when he regained his senses. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Ringo and George sitting at his bedside.

“‘ow long was I out?” he croaked.

“Just a few minutes” Ringo answered. “What happened?”

“Must’ve passed out” Paul mumbled. His throat felt sore and his eyes burned.

“Yeah, we gathered as much” George said.

“Didn’t have a good night” Paul elaborated. He felt like crap now that he concentrated on it. He still wanted to throw up and there was a dull ache in the back of his head.

Ringo stood up. When Paul turned his head to follow his movements a sharp pain shot through his head that made him yelp.

“What’s the matter?” George asked. Paul gestured to his head.

“Me head hurts like hell” he rasped. His voice wasn’t going to be any good in the next days.

“The doctor should be here soon” Ringo said and George nodded. Paul wanted to protest and say he needed no doctor but he was feeling weak so he closed his eyes.

Several minutes later Brian and the doctor came in. Of course Brian wanted to know what was going on but when he heard Paul’s voice he didn’t even want to hear an excuse anymore.

After about 15 minutes the doctor diagnosed Paul with a mild concussion and confined him to bed for four days and no concerts for at least ten days. It would delay the tour but Brian saw how bad Paul looked and didn’t object. After that they all left. Paul closed his eyes and drifted off into deep, healthy sleep.

* * *

Paul started up from his sleep with a gasp. He didn’t clearly remember what he had dreamt about but John’s hateful grimace was still clear before his eyes. Paul sat up, ignoring the pain in his head. He was thirsty, so he stood up, on wobbly legs and staggered into the bathroom. He poured some water from the tap into a glass and emptied it almost immediately. Then he refilled it and balanced it back to his room. When he passed by the living room door he saw John sitting on the sofa, a half empty bottle of beer next to him and about five more strewn around the room. His guitar leaned in an armchair and he was seemingly absorbed in a magazine he had lying in his lap.

Paul went back to his room. Now that he could finally think clearer than before he realised maybe John had been right about him. Maybe he was selfish. He hadn’t really thought about what would happen to the band. He couldn’t imagine what Ringo and George would say if there was to be a scandal.

On the other hand; why should there be a scandal. It wasn’t like he was going to run off with some random bloke and have sex with him in a random back alley. No. There was only John. There had only ever been John. His chest tightened at the thought and he fought back tears.

Paul swallowed. He would give everything to get to see one of John’s silly grimaces, his teeth showing, and his eyes crossed. He buried his head in a pillow and let out a sob. How was he going to survive this? His thoughts went in never ending circles and his head started pounding so bad that he quietly whimpered.

If he hadn’t kissed John he’d have one problem less, Paul thought. But if he hadn’t kissed John he also wouldn’t know the feeling of John’s lips against his own.  
Maybe it would have been for the better. Because firstly Paul’s head wouldn’t hurt like hell. Secondly John wouldn’t hate him as much as he surely did now, and thirdly and most importantly he wouldn’t long for another kiss. For another touch.

In that moment Paul realised how bad he had fucked up. He was a horrible person and he hadn’t realised.  
Guilt-ridden he fell asleep again.

* * *

He was woken up by voices. Brian was here. Paul slowly opened his eyes. He could see their manager’s back in the doorway. He was talking to someone in a hushed voice. It became clear who it was when John’s answer came loud and unrestricted.

“I’m not going in there, Eppy. We had a fight an’ I’m not gonna be the first to say sorry”

Brian’s tone shifted into a louder volume as well.

“I know you had a fight but why on earth does the lad have a bloody concussion” He was very clearly enraged because Brian never cursed. Paul curled himself into a ball and closed his eyes again. His head still hurt and it wouldn’t get better if John continued yelling at Eppy.

“That’s not my bloody problem, now, is it? Maybe he fell, how am I supposed to know?” That this reply came so aggressively and just a second too late told Paul everything. John knew the concussion was his fault, which made the whole situation even worse. He really hated Paul. Two days ago he would have taken the blame.

And now he denied it. Paul felt numb at the discovery. It was as if he had no more energy to feel the agonising pain, no tears left to shed.

After a few minutes later Eppy came in. Paul pretended to be asleep, he couldn’t deal with questions that were likely to come up.

Brian lightly shook him. “Paul” He opened his eyes. Eppy’s face was worried.

“I got you something” He continued. “You should eat” Only then Paul realised how hungry he was. Brian had brought oatmeal and some milk, toast and honey. Paul sat up straight. Although he did so slowly his head pounded and the room faded before his eyes for a brief moment.

“Thanks, Eppy.” he managed. His throat felt sore and speaking hurt.

Brian seemed hesitant before he spoke up again.

“What happened between John and you?” he asked. Paul felt his breath hitch as he swallowed down a lump that had formed in his throat.

“We had a fight” He pressed out eventually, choosing John’s exact words. Brian seemed to want to say something but he didn’t, seeing how Paul was wrecked by the one question. He muttered a quiet goodbye soon after and left the room.

Paul tried to eat. He had been hungry but when he tried to eat it tasted of nothing and he gave it up.

Later that day George and Ringo came by his room, asking about his wellbeing.

The next days passed in the same manner. Someone came by to bring him breakfast, which was usually enough for a whole day, usually Brian, sometimes George or Ringo. He never saw John. After five days his head didn’t hurt anymore. However, that didn’t mean his heart didn’t still hurt. Because it did. He decided to take a shower, he felt sticky after spending six days in bed.

For the first time in nearly a week he left his room for longer than a trip to the bathroom to get his guitar. It stood in its case by the door. He took it up, surprised by its weight and carried it to his room. He locked the door behind himself and started playing. Just old songs, slow songs he could play without too much of an effort.

Sometimes he had to stop in the middle of a song to wipe off a tear that had escaped when he had remembered the fun times John and he had had while writing and recording a certain part. He didn’t notice how late it was until he could barely see his fingers on the fretboard. Music helped him cope. Music had helped him when his mother had died. Music and John. He sighed and put the guitar down next to his bed.

Moments after he had lain down he fell asleep.

* * *

He woke up the next morning and felt more refreshed than he had in a whole week. He got up carefully, still expecting his head to hurt but it didn’t. He got dressed in loose trousers and a t-shirt and made his way over to Ringo’s and George’s room. He felt like company.

When he carefully opened the door and glanced in the two of them were sitting on the floor playing cards with John. When they noticed the door had been opened they all looked up. Ringo’s face notably lit up and George’s slightly confused expression soon changed into one of his crooked grins. Paul had missed them. But John’s face stayed cold, unreadable, although Paul believed to see a spark of rage. Paul’s heart sank and he took a step back. Why did John have to be there? There was no way John would want him anywhere near him in the next decade. Or ever again.

Once again tears welled up in his eyes as he slowly shut the door and ran back into his own room, threw himself on the bed and buried his head in a pillow. Deep breaths. He told himself.

“Paul” John. Paul slowly turned. John didn’t sound angry. He stood in the doorway, his expression as unreadable as before, although at the sight of Paul’s face a shade of emotion clouded his eyes but it vanished again momentarily so Paul had no chance of identifying it.

“Don’t dare to come near me” he stated in a dangerously low voice before his eyes tightened in what Paul thought to be hate and he turned around to stride out of the room again.

This time Paul worried about the band. If John didn’t want him in his sight anymore he could as well quit. Paul knew John could always to get his way if he really wanted. If they were a purely studio band they could either stay together for the sake of the fans and record at different times or he could quit and they could get another bass player. But he knew it wasn’t that easy and he didn’t want to disappoint Eppy nor let George and Ringo down. He had to be stronger than let John’s shit ruin him every time. He needed to distance himself from him.

Paul phoned his dad that evening.

“‘llo dad.”

“Thank god, Paul, you called. We were worried sick when we read in the papers that your tour was cancelled. Are you alright? I called Mr. Epstein and he said you were not in a condition to come to the phone”

“Yes, dad, I had a concussion but I’m fine now. I was wondering if I could come home for a few days”

“Of course you can” his father replied. “When will you be arriving?”

“Around seven, I think. I still have to pack.” Paul said. He felt his will shrink, thought he wouldn’t have guts to leave it all behind. He knew he had to leave before that happened.

He quickly put a few pairs of trousers and shirts into his bag, with boxers and a hair brush, threw his book in, too, took his guitar and left the hotel before any of the others could notice he was gone. He paid a taxi driver a hideous amount of money to drive him to Liverpool. Luckily the man didn’t recognise him. so they spent most of the ride in silence.

* * *

When Paul saw his childhood home he felt like crying. He quickly got his bag, and thanked the taxi driver once again.

As soon as he rang the door was opened and his father stood before him.

“Why didn’t you tell them you were leaving” he asked but stopped in his tracks when he saw Paul. “Paul, come in. You’ve become thin, lad, come in. I made a soup for you.”

Paul stepped inside the house and kicked off his shoes.

“Thanks, dad.” His father looked at him expectantly so he continued. “I didn’t tell them cause they wouldn’t have let me go. And I needed to get away from there. You sure I ain’t bothering you?”

Jim approached and embraced Paul. “You could never bother me” he said quietly. Paul hadn’t realised how badly he needed this hug. It was as if a barricade inside of him had been opened and his feelings came flooding over him. Before he could help it tears rolled down his cheeks and a quiet sob escaped his lips. He quickly slipped from his father’s arms and made his way to his bedroom, the guitar case still in his hand.

Once he was in his room he dropped it onto his bed and looked around. The room was still mostly the same as always.

Paul recalled sitting on the bed and trying to play the latest Elvis hit or some Buddy Holly song. Sometimes alone, sometimes with John. And when he’d played alone it was to practice so he could impress John.

He remembered how he had sat on this bed and thought about how many people wrote songs. So why couldn’t he. The first thing he had done was to phone up John, taking the risk of getting his aunt Mimi on the other side of the line. But luckily John himself had answered. He had laughed it off at first. A typical Lennon move. But then he had warmed up to it.

Paul took a deep breath. He wouldn’t let those memories bring him down now.

That night he slept more peaceful than he had in the last week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter two. I hope you'll like it. (There's smut......)

Paul felt inspired again. He completed one song he’d been working on and wrote a new one. But he felt like something was completely missing; the slight press at his side, like when somebody sat near him, a critical voice in his ear. He missed John. But it had faded to a dull ache that was constantly there but was only apparent when he concentrated on it.

The days faded into a blur and Paul lost the track of time. He loved how he could stay by himself and not even worry about little things like groceries.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when one day Eppy stood at his door demanding to speak to him.

“It’s been over a week, Paul. I think it’s time you came back.” he said in a sympathetic way.

“But-” Paul wanted to interrupt but Brian continued talking.

“We have to pick up the tour again. The doctor said you should be off for ten days. It’s been fifteen my now. How are you?”

“I’m fine” Paul finally said. “What about John?”

“He’s fine-” Brian started.

“I didn’t want to know how he was. I wanted to know if he was” Paul hesitated before he quietly muttered the rest of the sentence “if he was ok with me coming back”

“I still don’t know what exactly happened between the two of you” Brian answered with a concerned expression “but I talked to him and he agreed to at least finish this tour.”

Paul sighed. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to see John again. But he had a responsibility to fulfil towards Eppy, George and Ringo as well as his fans.

Paul moved out as fast as he had moved in. He hugged his dad firmly, thanking him for the stay, before he went outside where Brian had a car waiting.

* * *

 

A few hours later they arrived at their hotel. It was still the same place and Brian said they’d had some difficulty keeping the rooms as they had been partly booked. They’d stay one more day and then move on to the next city. When Paul opened the door to John’s and his room he found the older man lounging in one of the armchairs, singing “Yesterday” of all things. He looked up and quickly stopped when Paul entered the room. To his great surprise John actually muttered a quiet greeting before he quickly vanished into his room, head bowed.

Paul made his way to his own room and put down his luggage. After that he went over to the others.

“Paul! How’re you? We missed you. John was all sulky when you were gone” George blurted out. Paul stopped in his tracks as he was almost crushed by George’s enthusiastic hug. Why on earth had John been sulky? He had only wanted Paul to leave.

When George let go off him Ringo came over and quickly hugged him, too.

“‘s good to have you back” he grinned.

“Thanks, I missed you, too” Paul muttered. He was confused. John should have been happy he left. He rubbed a hand across his forehead.

“I’ll be off then” he gestured towards the door. “See you later”

When he opened the door, John came out of his room. Paul froze. The man was still so handsome, though his hair looked slightly ruffled, he had dark rings under his eyes and he sported some stubble. Paul would love to feel it against his cheeks…, and other places. But before his imagination could go any further John started speaking.

“Can we talk?” He asked almost carefully as he strode over to the sofa.

Paul wasn’t ready. He wanted to run away. He couldn’t let John hurt him again. But he nodded anyway and followed the other man. He mentally slapped himself for giving in to John again. But he just couldn’t deny John anything. Not after everything that happened and he despised himself for that for not keeping promises he had made to himself in order to protect himself. He sighed.

Once Paul was seated in an armchair opposite of him, John started speaking.

“I’m sorry” Paul raised his eyebrow. John didn’t honestly think it would be that easy, did he?

“I’m sorry” John started again. “I know I shouldn’t have acted like that…” he stopped. If the situation had been any different Paul would have laughed.

“Is that all you have to say?” He asked, almost as coldly as he had intended. John looked at him, his eyes wide open, but after several moments he replied.

“I just don’t know what else to say” Paul stood up and went to his room. He wasn’t in the mood for this. If John wanted him back, his loyalty, his trust, he would have to give a lot more than a simple “sorry”.

When he had almost reached his door he was turned around almost roughly as his arm was grabbed. He flinched back when he saw John’s face was mere inches from his. Paul could smell the cigarettes and the faint note of John’s aftershave. His breath hitched when his eyes wandered towards John’s lips. The lips he wanted to capture, lick, bite in a bruising kiss. But he forced himself to breathe steadily and took a step back. He would rather not repeat what had happened after he had kissed John the last time.

“I mean it, y’know” John almost whispered. There was clearly hurt in his eyes, regret too. It broke the younger man’s heart all over again, to see the other suffer even though his brain clearly knew John deserved it and Paul knew from the way he flinched away that he wasn’t ready. John’s hurt came nowhere near what Paul had suffered from and he straightened his back and tried to pry his wrist out of John’s firm grip.

“I’ve never missed Cyn the way I missed you. I…” he drifted off. Paul waited. “You are my other half, Paul, you complete me; you’ve got to feel something as well” John almost pleaded.

Paul wanted to tell John he was forgiven, to pull him into a crushing hug and wipe that look off his face, and to never let go. But he also knew that his heart which still wasn’t over the old feelings was speaking and although it hurt he stayed quiet and turned away, successfully freeing his hand.

Once he was in his room he sighed. He didn’t want to have to see John like this. That had never been the plan. But if he gave in now, John might do this again. He might hurt him again because he had got away so easily this time. Paul needed to make him see how deeply John’s words had wounded him.

He absentmindedly rubbed his wrist. It tingled as if he could somehow still feel where John’s fingers had been pressed against the sensitive skin there.

* * *

 

They had a rehearsal later that day to get back into their routine. It went pretty well, considering that Paul and John barely spoke ten words throughout the session. But Paul hoped the performance would work out anyway, despite the quite obvious tension between the two of them.

Every now and then Paul noticed John looking at him which didn’t help to make him feel like less of a prick for ignoring his attempts to apologise. Paul considered giving in. Would they pretend it hadn’t happened? He couldn’t imagine ever forgetting. John didn’t seem like his usual self anymore. No more references to inside jokes, no more witty comments that made everyone laugh and relax for a little while. Paul found he missed it.

Afterwards when they went back to the hotel Paul felt like he needed to shower. When the water splashed on his back he relaxed. He took a deep breath and tried to empty his head of thoughts. It usually worked but he just couldn’t forget how tired and simply wrecked John had seemed. He never grew a beard. It just wasn’t John. Paul shook his head at the thought, spraying water on the shower curtain. He wouldn’t give in, not even to John Lennon.

* * *

 

The show had been surprisingly good. The fans hadn’t been visibly disappointed that hadn’t fooled around as much as usual and Paul’s smile sometimes left his lips although he tried to maintain it carefully. In the end it was all for the fans, so it was alright.

George and Ringo went for a drink afterwards but neither John nor Paul felt like joining them. it seemed like they had reached a silent agreement to try getting along without talking. They sat in the car in silence, glancing at each other when they thought the other was not looking. The tension between them only seemed to build up more as time passed. Finally, John spoke.

“Why did you kiss me?” All of a sudden Paul felt sick. He didn’t want to start this again. If John was going to go on rambling about how something was wrong with him he suspected that he would leave again. And not come back.

Paul noticed how his breathing had quickened and his heart beat increasingly faster. He barely kept down a shiver that seemed to be creeping up his spine. John leant over to him, looking concerned.

“Paul, what’s happening?” he asked almost calmly. But Paul didn’t trust himself to get any word out.

“Paul” John sounded slightly more worried now. “You don’t have to say anything’.” He sighed. John sighed and though Paul didn’t even feel in control of his own body, all he wanted to do was take John’s pain away.

“I still mean what I said earlier. I’m sorry about what I said. I’ll keep apologising if it helps. I just… Relax, Paul” And Paul really felt himself relax against the familiarity of John’s voice and he sunk back into his seat, leaning into John’s side.

What he finally managed was a breathy “Thanks” although there was a very real possibility John hadn’t even heard him. He noticed how John’s arm sneaked around his back hesitantly, and when Paul didn’t move away settled firmly on his hip.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Paul was conflicted; he enjoyed that he finally had John back but he was still sceptical. He couldn’t believe it was this easy. Nothing was ever easy with John.

“If you want me to leave, you only have to ask” he said. It was true. He would leave it all behind if it meant happiness for John.

John sat up straight and looked at Paul like it was the weirdest thing he had ever been asked. Then his face softened and again Paul wished he could just cradle it in his hands, caress the delicate lines of his cheekbones and jaw and kiss him softly.

“If you leave again I’ll leave with you” John eventually said and Paul forgot how to breathe.

Of course the driver chose that exact moment to arrive at the hotel and they had to get out.

They didn’t speak much over the course of the evening. They had to pack as they were going to depart first thing the next morning. Paul was exhausted. He couldn’t believe this morning he’d still been in Liverpool and drunk tea with his father over breakfast, thinking he was mostly over John now.

But in this moment when he was only a few yards away from the man he realised he would probably never really get over him. Right now all he wanted to do was snuggle up to him and maybe lean up into a kiss or two before falling asleep in his arms.

Paul knew he couldn’t have that. He had never felt so lonely and as it was warm anyways and he would sweat under the blanket he rolled it up and hugged it tightly before falling asleep.

In the middle of the night he awoke. He wasn’t tired anymore. For some reason he was wide awake, but as he checked his watch it was only 2:30. He got up and lit himself a cigarette on the tiny balcony in his room. He stood idly, enjoying the cool night air when suddenly someone whispered “Paul”

“Woah” he just barely avoided to yelp loudly and drop his ciggy. John was standing on his own balcony, looking over to him.

“‘s alright. ‘s only me” John said.

“You scared the hell out of me” was all, Paul could manage. John chuckled.

“I noticed” he replied.

“Can I come over?” he inquired, taking another drag from his own ciggy, before stomping it out and kicking the remains over the edge.

“Yeah” Paul said quietly. He couldn’t sleep anyway so what harm would a little company do?

Not half a minute later John joined him. Paul instinctively leant into his side at which John slung an arm around him. They stood there in silence until Paul had finished his cigarette. Then he hesitantly said.

“You know, I missed you too” It was nothing but the truth and he could almost hear the smile in John’s voice when he replied

“I know. What would you even do without me?” Paul knew it was only a mock question. But he turned around to hug John. He wrapped his arms around him tightly and just held him. After a few moments John’s hands joined behind his back and held him in an equally tight embrace.

“I honestly have no idea what I’d do without you.” Paul replied with as much honesty as he could master although he knew he didn’t have to. To his surprise and more tenderly than Paul had ever heard from John, the latter responded.

“Me neither” John completely relaxed into the hug. He laid his head on Paul’s shoulder nuzzled his face into the longish strands of Paul’s unusually ruffled hair.

Paul could stay like this forever. It was the closest he was ever going to get to John and it was filling him up with joy while at the same time driving him crazy with a want, no a need for more.

He sighed. John shifted slightly at that, seemingly somehow deepening the embrace and murmuring softly.

“I’m so, so sorry” Paul should tell him he was forgiven. Nobody should let their  friends down like this. Why couldn’t he just take the apology and live with it? But he felt like it still somehow wasn’t ok.

“Well, I thought you weren’t bloody gonna be the first one to apologise” he felt bad about it as soon as it had left his lips. But John merely chuckled, a deep rumbling in his chest Paul felt clearly and replied.

“I just realised I’d done something wrong. And if there is one thing Mimi taught me it was to apologise.” His laughter was contagious and Paul’s mood got better with every second that passed.

John suddenly froze "How much did you hear of that conversation?"

"All of it," Paul truthfully answered. The other man sighed.

"I'm really sorry"

Paul suddenly felt incredibly sleepy again and quietly yawned. Without actively communicating they made the joint decision to go back inside.

Paul whispered “goodnight” softly and snuggled into his pillow. There was only one left of those, apparently John had taken his own one back while Paul had been gone.

He was already almost asleep, floating between reality and dream when he imagined feeling the touch of lips kissing his forehead just swiftly and lightly like a feather, so it might as well already have been a dream.

* * *

 

Paul awoke when someone screamed into his ear.

“If you don’t get up now, we’re gonna leave without you” George yelled as Paul sat up, gasping in surprise.

“Bloody hell, George, that’s not funny, you gave me a heart attack” He yelped.

But George had already left the room again, probably attempting to wake up John. Seconds later Paul’s suspicions were confirmed when loud screaming and shrieking came from the other room. Evidently John hadn’t reacted as quietly as Paul had.

The final process of packing together and throwing suitcases, guitars and bags just randomly into their minibus was brought over with soon and at 10 AM sharp a surprisingly chirpy George, a grumpy Ringo, a quiet John and sleepy Paul were ready to go. John sat down next to Paul as if it was the most natural thing. George eyed them with a questioning look, Paul ignored and Ringo seemed like he couldn’t care less and he needed another six hours of sleep.

They would be on the road for two hours and after about twenty minutes John laid his head on Paul’s shoulder. His hair fell into his eyes as he slowly closed them in an attempt to sleep. Paul couldn’t resist to put an arm around John as the older man snuggled into him.

Most of the ride he spent watching John sleep. The man was devastatingly handsome and Paul was happy to be near him. He suspected that if he wasn’t in the Beatles he would probably be a massive John Lennon fan.

After about an hour or so John woke up again and looked up at Paul, smiling way too softly to be considered normal for John. Then his face twisted into one of his terrible grimaces, and Paul nearly burst out laughing and crying at the same time. He had missed this John so much. Instead he just grinned widely. John sat up straight and turned more serious again.

“Will you tell me then?” He inquired. Paul was almost certain he knew what John was talking about but he asked anyway.

“What do you want me to tell you?”

John’s voice dropped to a whisper as he leant over and whispered to him.

“Why did you kiss me?” Paul could feel John’s breath against his neck and swallowed thickly.

“I thought that would upset you the most.” It was a half-truth really. He had known, John would not be thrilled by it. But he had also desperately wanted it. Of course he didn’t tell him that. It would only ruin everything again.

“Ah.” John said. Nothing more. But he also stayed very close to Paul so he probably wasn’t angry. After a moment he continued. “It did. I was furious” he pronounced the word pointedly. “But you noticed that.” He smiled sheepishly.

“Yeah, my head killed me” Paul replied. John looked troubled.

Finally, he said. “Y’know, I don’t know why I hurt you. It was all a blur; I was so angry. I don’t really think that kiss” he hesitated “made me angry. I was already angry before. It only confused me which made it worse. I’m so sorry, Paul, I can’t even tell you how sorry I am.” He reached up to lightly touch Paul’s temple.

“Does it still hurt?” He gently asked, combing his fingers through Paul’s hair lightly until his palm lightly cupped the back of Paul’s head.

“Nah, it hasn’t for some time now” Paul replied quietly. How easy it would be to just lean over now, these few remaining inches, and to kiss John in all the ways he’d imagined.

He noticed how John looked at him directly and tried not to blush. A blush could ruin everything; he had learned that. For a few seconds they just looked into each other’s eyes. Paul had never noticed the specks of green that highlighted John’s irises. Paul could get lost in those eyes. Drown in the smooth chocolate colour if he was only allowed to.

Suddenly John abruptly shook his head. “I am still sorry. I will always be” and without thinking any more this time for some reason it felt only right for Paul to reply.

“It’s alright, Johnny.” He nuzzled his head into the crook of John’s neck and they stayed comfortably like that for the rest of the ride. They had to trust each other and talk it out, Paul realised. When he had John’s explanation everything had made more sense and he felt he could understand John better. He found he was still sceptic but he tried his best because John was sincere, more so than ever.

* * *

 

When they arrived at the next hotel, George insightfully but rather half-heartedly asked if Paul was sure about sharing a room with John again. In retrospect Paul had probably answered that question way too fast and enthusiastic to not be suspicious. But George only barely visibly raised one eyebrow and John let out an adorable chuckle, so Paul couldn’t really bring himself to care.

Once in their rooms Paul fell onto his bed with a loud “oof” and decided to stay there for the rest of the day. It was a beautifully soft bed and smooth sheets. He unwillingly got up to fetch his book and again jumped onto the bouncing bed, wriggled himself into a halfway comfortable sitting position and started to read.

After a few minutes, he noticed John standing in the doorway.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked carefully.

Paul nodded briefly in the direction of the bed and John sat down next to him, glasses on his nose and a notebook and a pen in his hand. After a moment of settling down he started to scribble.

Paul tried to concentrate on his book. But somehow the scratching sound of the pen made it impossible. He put the book away and laid his head back, closing his eyes. After a few seconds the scratching sound stopped and when Paul looked up he saw that John had put his notebook away, just sitting there and fiddling with the pen. Paul hesitated before he spoke.

"Is something the matter?"

“No, Paulie, I'm just happy I have you back." Paul felt like that was not all there was to it but he didn't want to intrude into John’s personal matters so he didn't pry on.

They had a few hours to kill before they had to get ready for the concert. They mostly joked around and played a bit of music. Around three in the afternoon George and Ringo came over and they played a few rounds of cards, two of which George won and the others won one each.

As John and Paul got dressed and all ready to go John suddenly spoke up.

“Can I ask you something?” Paul stiffened a little at the uncomfortable tone but nodded.

“You don’t have to answer, y’know, if you don’t wanna, but,” he hesitated and Paul looked away from the mirror, meeting John’s gaze. “Are you really queer? I mean, it’s ok. I won’t judge. I don’t wanna lose you again, just… y’know…” He looked at his shoes almost sheepishly. Paul swallowed. He wasn’t queer. He’d never been interested in blokes. He let out a shaky breath.

“No, John. I don’t think so.” Paul was confused. He actually didn’t have a clue if liking just one man made him queer, then again John had always been an exception.

He turned around again to finish doing his tie and sighed.

The concert was one of the good ones. They communicated better again and were in contact through the music like it was supposed to be. But Paul kept at distance, didn’t respond to all smiles John flashed him, didn’t laugh at all his silly jokes. He remembered what had happened the last time he had and came to the conclusion that he would rather not relive that experience.

Paul stayed quiet the whole evening and mostly kept to himself. He felt on edge and slightly sick as if he expected John to freak out again. He went to bed early, falling asleep relatively easily.

In the middle of the night Paul shot up with a gasp, as if he had held his breath. He felt panic settle in his stomach as flashes of his dream appeared before his eyes; John’s hateful stare, those brown eyes hard and unforgiving. When he tried to normalise his breathing he noticed wet trails on his cheeks and swollen eyes. A mere second after that his door flew open and his mind went blank with fear. He couldn’t do this again. There was pain, so much pain, he was being ripped apart on the inside and he couldn’t do anything against it. In the centre of the pain there was John. Not John as a picture, but John as a feeling, angry, fierce John and he was hurting him. Paul couldn’t escape, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

 _Paul._ It was John’s voice. It was going to torture, to haunt him with the things he was sure that were to follow.

Hands. On his shoulders. Shoulders, he felt his shoulders, his body again. The pain started to fade, the ache grew dull.

 _Paul_. He forced himself to concentrate on breathing. Inhale - exhale, inhale - exhale. Easy. Slowly he opened his eyes. John’s face was close, too close, his hands on Paul’s shoulders.

“Hey” John whispered softly. Paul searched for words but he found only numbness. He tried to pry away from John but noticed his muscles didn’t quite do as he wanted. Then he realised he was shaking.

“It’s ok, Paulie, I’m here” John continued soothingly. Paul felt himself relax against John until his breathing was halfway normal again and he could form a proper thought without shaking all over. His nose was nuzzled in the long strands of hair in the back of John’s neck and the older man’s hands were stroking up and down his back in a much needed calming manner.

They stayed like that for several more moments before Paul pulled away and averted his eyes awkwardly.

“What happened” John finally asked into the silence.

“I had a nightmare.” Paul started. “When I woke up I… you came in like...” he drifted off and buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes. He felt like shit; still on edge but more tired than ever before.

“I’m sorry.” Paul didn’t like this John, the John that apologised all the time. It felt as if he was too fragile to handle a little bit of John. Like John felt he needed to protect him. Paul didn’t want that. But maybe he needed it. What had happened just minutes before only seemed to prove it.

“It’s ok.” Paul muttered. At this John’s eyes flashed and he stood up.

“It’s not ok. The last thing this is, is ok. Paul, you should’ve seen yourself! You were shaking and crying. I had no idea what to do with you! This is because of me and I’m sorry,” he seemed distraught and Paul wanted nothing more than to snuggle up against him and take both their sorrows away. John’s eyes looked dark, like deep pools Paul wanted to vanish in and never come back. But worry and sorrow were not a good look on him so Paul just hummed noncommittally. After a minute John left and Paul laid down again and slept idly until the morning. Or so he thought.

When Paul woke up he felt warm and fuzzy and never wanted to leave his bed. He wanted to roll over but was held in place as something pressed against his back, preventing him from turning. He opened his eyes, took a quick look over his shoulder and froze.

John.

When had he come into his bed? Paul had definitely fallen asleep alone. He desperately tried to without waking John up but didn’t succeed. He stopped all motions when he heard a yawn behind him and a soft breath on the gentle skin on his neck sent shivers down his spine he tried to suppress.

Trying not to sound accusing Paul asked carefully:

“How did you get ‘ere?”

John huffed out a laugh.

“You had another nightmare and I didn’t wanna wake you up. So I tried to comfort you. ‘t worked. You slept like a baby” At that John grinned goofily and pinched Paul’s cheek.

Paul suppressed a smile and sighed.

“Thanks … I guess.” Finally, Paul got out of the bed and headed towards the shower. “I’m going first” He called over his shoulder, meeting John’s gaze for a second.

Paul tried to ignore that he yearned to wake up like this every morning. Next to John, nice and warm, content,...

He turned abruptly, and shut the bathroom door behind himself.

* * *

 

John behaved differently. Paul hadn’t immediately realised, but ever since he had come back the other man seemed protective over him. They had been close before but now whenever someone pulled Paul in a hug or smiled at him flirtatiously there was a scowl on John’s face that hadn’t been there before. Paul didn’t think anyone else noticed it, except maybe George and Ringo but it was there and he didn’t understand why.

Maybe John still regretted that he had hurt him and wanted to make sure nobody else did. Possibly he wanted to make sure Paul didn’t have nightmares anymore so he could sleep one night without disturbance.

The nightmares were getting better. Sometimes he could cope himself, sometimes John came over if the sobbing and gasping became too much. But all in all it was better.

If it was especially bad, John stayed; that rarely happened but it made Paul's heart ache for more. And that generally wasn't good. He had enough proof of that.

They only had two weeks of the tour left. After that Paul would return to his empty house and John would return to Cyn. Paul had never disliked her, she was a lovely girl and quite intelligent as well. He was almost sure John wouldn't even spare someone he thought was stupid a second glance, let alone marry them. But despite himself Paul found he was anxious of the end of the tour. He feared that John might become less attentive, even though, as his brain helpfully supplied, that would actually be a good thing. He was fairly sure that wasn't jealousy but it came pretty close.

Paul let out a sigh. Everything seemed to revolve around John these days. His thoughts were going in circles, he thought about everything and nothing at the same time.

“-you’re not even listening to me, are you?” George asked. “What’s gotten into you lately, is it a bird? Finally! You couldn’t sulk forever after Jane. ‘s not healthy-”

“No, George. ‘s not a bird” Paul chuckled at George’s obvious disappointment. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“Pattie and I are going’ on a holiday to India. Maybe I’ll buy me an own sitar”

“Sounds gear” Paul grinned. It was good to see George this inspired.

“What about you? You don’t have a bird; are you just gonna sit at home and sulk and write sad songs in the company of your guitar, your piano and your ego?” George teased and grinned lopsidedly.

“Pretty much,” Paul chuckled. “Unless I meet the love of my life in the next two weeks I’ll be alone in my house with my ego” George giggled.

“Must be good to sleep in your own bed every now and again” George mused. Paul knew it was supposed to be a joke. But he felt terrified of sleeping in his own bed alone in his house, without anyone near him. Without John near him. He knew the nightmares had decreased in both intensity and quantity but he still felt vulnerable afterwards and craved someone else’s touch.

Avoiding an answer, Paul hummed noncommittally.

Thankfully George realised this seemed to be a sore point for Paul and he quickly changed the topic.

“You wanna come over? We’re going to have a relaxed night. Neil and Mal are coming too. You wanna get beaten at cards? We have beer too!”

“No need to convince me. I’m coming” Paul laughed.

* * *

 

Sometime during the evening, they all ended up on the floor, just fooling around and trying to enjoy life as much as possible while practically being locked in a hotel room.

John and Paul were lounging against one of the sofas, George and Ringo against the other one and Neil and Mal were sprawled on top of them there were empty beer bottles strewn all across the room. At some point Paul’s head ended up on John’s chest while they were listening to the story of how Ringo got repeatedly molested by fans because he was too good-hearted to ignore them or tell them his name was John Smith.

Paul was starting to doze off when he felt John’s fingers carefully stroking through the long strands of hair on the back of his head. Suddenly he was wide awake again and felt as if his senses had been heightened; he was hyper-aware of John.

His fingers sliding through Paul’s hair, caressing the back of his head; his breathing, a steady up and down of his chest and his heart beating a steady rhythm against his ear. John’s scent of beer, ciggies and that undeniably John smell Paul had come to know so well over the past weeks, as it was one of the things about John’s presence that calmed him down. But in that moment it seemed to just do the exact opposite.

Paul felt his heart speed up and his mind speed up and racing even though he tried to calm down. This was only John; for the love of god, they had shared a bed often enough in the last time so that this shouldn’t make him react the way it did. Paul forced himself to take deep breaths and calm down. He concentrated entirely on the feeling of John’s fingers twirled into his hair, moving gently and as he relaxed a warm feeling spread from where John touched him and it settled in his stomach, making it flutter. Shit. Didn’t he already have enough to worry about, without this feeling, without getting giddy like a schoolgirl every time he saw John? The unwanted attraction had been too much already. But now he had one more thing to worry about. He was completely in love with his best friend and how had that happened? Paul felt complete in that moment. He never wanted to leave ever again. But at the same time he felt the urge to run away and never return, because he really wasn’t ready for this. Actually Paul thought he was never going to be ready.

* * *

 

John was sending him strange looks. Sometimes a realisation scratched at the back of Paul's head but he could never grasp that thought. One night when Paul's nightmares were especially bad and John came over, after all tears had been shed Paul fell asleep like usually, but the next morning he wasn't sure whether or not he'd dreamt that just as he was drifting off, John pressed soft kisses to the back of his neck.

Paul closed his eyes and focused entirely on the warm body behind him, the arm, that was almost possessively slung around his hip, the press of John’s nose into the crook of his neck as he exhaled softly. Paul’s heart felt so full at that moment so he turned around slowly so as not to wake John up and just looked at the other man’s peaceful features in the light of the early morning.

When John stirred Paul hastily shuffled away before closing his eyes again, hoping John hadn’t noticed him staring.

“Morning,” John murmured drowsily after a few moments. When Paul opened his eyes he found the older man’s face bare inches from him. Instantly his heartbeat quickened and his breathing grew heavier. John’s pupils were blown wide, his hair was sleep mussed and all in all Paul found he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Paul quickly averted his gaze and turned away to get out of bed when John grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to face him.

“Stay” He whispered hoarsely. Paul hesitated for a second but slowly sunk back against the warmth of John’s embrace. They lay in content silence for a few minutes absorbing the other’s presence into each other.

When Paul took a peek over his shoulder he found John had closed his eyes and a relaxed smile played on his lips. He sighed softly and murmured,

“John, we should get up.” But John’s grip on his middle only tightened. “John” The other man grunted in response, snuggling into Paul. “Let go, please” Paul said softly. He yearned for John’s touch like nothing else but he knew he couldn’t allow for this to be taken too far. He slipped out of John’s embrace and got dressed quickly before calling room service for some breakfast.

When the scent of coffee filled the room John came out of his own room fully dressed and slumped into a chair opposite of Paul. They each helped themselves to a piece of toast before spreading butter and marmalade on it nearly in sync. They ate mostly in silence. Afterwards they had a few free hours before they’d go on to the next town where they’d play before going back to London for the final concert that marked the end of the tour.  Paul got his guitar and settled down in a luxurious armchair, strumming a few chords before, as it had become a habit for them over the last seven years, John joined in easily. And just like that Paul lost the track of time as they played and fooled around like they had grown so used to doing.

* * *

 

After almost two hours had passed they decided to take a break and Paul got up to stretch his legs.

“Paul”

“Yeah?” Paul responded.

John didn’t immediately answer but when he did Paul jumped. “Paul” John’s voice rasped against the back of his neck. Paul whipped around and stood face to face with John only to be shoved backwards against the wall. He let out a small gasp that made John grin for some reason, maybe he found this amusing. But Paul was only confused. In their current position John seemed taller than he actually was. He looked down on Paul as he slowly continued to speak.

“Macca, I know you want me” And just like that Paul heard the blood rush in his ears and felt his breathing speed up in panic. John couldn’t be serious. Not again. Paul needed to breathe but he was trapped between a wall and John. He tried to push John away but ended up only slumping against him.

“-listen to me, now, you daft git-” He heard John say.

Slowly he got himself under control again and when he looked up John had the most bewildered look in his eyes. “Please, Paul, let me finish”

Paul nodded half-heartedly as John continued.

“What I’m trying to say is that - now that I know how soft your lips are I want to feel them again, now that I know how your body feels against mine, I want to feel it every night. I depend on you, Paulie, don’t you see?” John’s tone was almost pleading at the end. But this wasn’t John Lennon, the John Lennon he had spent his last seven years around. so Paul just shook his head and laughed hollowly.

“Very poetic, Lennon, but I can’t do this. This is nothing to make fun of and you know it” He uttered weakly.

But John gripped him by the shoulders and turned him around and Paul couldn’t help but stare in his chocolate coloured eyes and - shit -  was he in love.

“I mean it” John said in a sincere way that left Paul wishing John indeed meant it, so before he could properly think he said,

“Then prove it”

Silence.

Then Paul was shoved back against the wall and his lips were attacked by John’s. The younger man immediately melted into John’s touches, tangling a hand in the long strands of hair in the back of John’s neck as John’s lips fit on his like no pair of lips had ever done. The kiss itself was chaste, barely lips rubbing against lips but it left Paul panting for air nonetheless. As soon as they felt they had inhaled enough oxygen they dove in again like dehydrated men finally finding water. John coaxed Paul’s lips apart and slipped his tongue inside the other man’s mouth to discover it, to explore it and claim it as his. And Paul was only willing. John vaguely tasted of marmalade and coffee, and right at that moment Paul couldn’t have imagined anything to taste better than that. However, it had come to this, Paul could not imagine ever living without it. That feeling of just John. When they finally broke apart again they were both breathing heavily, resting their foreheads against each other.

“John-” Paul started, but John interrupted him with another peck on the lips.

“John” he attempted again.  “How...why, I mean how…?”

John chuckled quietly as he slipped his hands down Paul’s back to rest them on his hips.

“I hurt you. And I just realised how wrong I was. Y’know, I was miserable when you were up at your dad’s. I missed you… I knew before that I had feelings for you. And you know me, Paulie. You know me like no one else; when there is a risk I take it. I started flirting, checking you out, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t know how to cope when you actually reacted so I went the Lennon way again and threw you against a wall,” John’s expression was sinister “That’s why it screwed me up when you left. It was worse punishment than any other and you know I’m so sorry, Paul, and I know you’ll never forgive me, and I'll never forgive myself, but please...” He drifted off “You know, when I stayed with you for the first time I woke up to you sleeping in my arms and realised it’d never been like this with Cyn. I never considered any other blokes before but you’re Paul. I mean, you’ve always been my exception.” He hesitated when he saw the tears in Paul’s eyes. The younger man had listened in silence to John’s confession and found himself speechless. He hardly felt the tears running down his cheeks until John swiped them away carefully.

“I don’t understand what I feel for you but I know that this feels better than when I felt like death after we had that fight.” He paused to tug Paul against him, slinging one of his arms around his lower back, the other around his shoulders.

“The things I said… I never meant it, any of it. I just… I think I just couldn’t stand the thought of another man with you, not as a friend, and much less as a lover” John spat out. “I care for you so much, I couldn’t bear to lose you to another one”

Paul let his tears run down his face as he sniffed and muttered.

“I could never, Johnny, how could I ever leave you” He tightened his grip on John and buried his head in the crook of the other man’s neck.

John hummed in agreement and stroked one hand up and down Paul’s back, soothingly. They just stood like that for a few minutes, complete with one another before they slowly made their way back to their guitars, never not touching, this time sitting next to each other on the sofa, keeping eye contact as they slowly strummed their guitars along to words that just came to their minds, only discontinued by the occasional peck on the lips just to make sure the other was still there and utterly real. After some time, the familiar atmosphere of friendly banter and mockery returned and Paul realised with awe that they could still be best friends. However cruel John had acted and however difficult it had been forgiving him the incident had only strengthened their bond and relationship.

* * *

 

Much like Paul had predicted their lives didn’t change. They continued sleeping in one bed, continued shooting each other looks of more or less hidden desire. Paul dreaded the end of the tour more than ever. He had grown so used to John protecting him from night terrors and whatever bad got to him in the dead of night that he was downright scared of leaving for his own house, especially as it was new and thus his surroundings foreign and unknown.

On the last day before they would return to London they played on performance in the morning at some theatre. Like usually they had to fight their way to the cab that brought them back to the hotel. Once in their suite Paul collapsed on the sofa and John fell on top of him, his head on Paul’s chest, his hair slightly damp with sweat, drowsy eyed.

Paul proceeded with gently combing his fingers through the fluffy bangs and caress John’s cheeks, jaw, lips. Finally, John leant up for a quick kiss, slowly repositioning himself so he straddled Paul’s hips as he deepened the kiss, making Paul utter low moans from the back of his throat. Paul eagerly responded the kiss and blushed slightly when he couldn’t help but moan at the sensations John was creating in him.

When John ground his hips into Paul’s, the younger man threw his head back as he let out a guttural groan, feeling the bulge in his pants grow with John’s teasing. John continued kissing along Paul’s jaw, opening the tie and top buttons of the other man’s shirt, when John stopped for a second to relieve himself from his own jacket and tie Paul lightly shook his head forcing his eyes to focus and whispered in a raspy voice.

“Why don’t we continue this in the bedroom?”

They slowly made their way to John's bedroom eventually, losing jackets, ties, shirts on their way.

* * *

 

When they hit the covers of John’s bed they were only clad in their underwear which was rapidly growing tighter. When John stopped bruising Paul’s lips in a passionate kiss and his lips wandered downwards, caressing the skin on Paul’s chest, Paul let out a choked noise from the back of his throat in both frustration and pleasure. John’s hands slid under Paul’s back and teased the hem of his boxers, while he looked up at Paul to ask his consent. Paul’s eyes widened almost comically while he blushed and hesitantly nodded his permission. He lifted his hips so John could pull the underwear off and hissed when the cooler air of the room hit his cock. John grinned up at him mischievously before closing his hand around Paul’s member. Paul felt his eyes roll back in his head and he couldn’t even try to control the sounds he uttered. John worked his cock with such precision and expertise that no girl would ever satisfy Paul again, let alone any amount of touching himself . When Paul was nearing the edge, ready to come any given second, John abruptly stopped.

“Oh no, Paul, I have more plans than just a rotten hand job.” John rasped. Just as Paul was about to protest, John reached behind him, cupping the younger man’s behind, occasionally caressing his middle fingers over the puckered hole. Paul groaned at the foreign sensation and lifted his arse to grant John better access.

Soon John withdrew completely and left Paul panting for more before he vanished in the direction of his suitcase and returned with a Vaseline container after a short while of rummaging. Paul could vaguely discern the words “... never been happier I didn’t throw my old shit away...” being muttered under John’s breath before John raised his voice and smoothly said “This’ll be a whole lot easier if you turn on your stomach”

Paul immediately complied and John opened the container as he asked “You sure you wanna do this, Paulie? It’s ok if you don’t. I’d never hurt you again”

When Paul nodded emphatically, John proceeded to slick up one finger with the thick Vaseline and bent over Paul to reach for his entrance. The finger circled his hole for an eternity before it slid in to the first ... second knuckle. Slowly John pulled out again before pushing back in, setting a steady rhythm after a few experimental thrusts. The sensation was fairly odd, Paul had to admit, not exactly pleasurable but also not bad. He wasn’t sure if it would be worth it in the end but he was willing to try with John.

When he felt a second finger at his entrance, he tensed up for a second which immediately had John asking if he was still ok. When he relaxed and voiced that – yes – he was still on board with this, the second finger slowly joined the first, opening him up. When Paul imagined John’s dick inside himself he shivered in anticipation and let out a moan that put anything to shame he might have ever uttered during sex before.

“If you keep moaning like that I’ll come in my pants, Paul” John muttered drily, which only had Paul supressing another moan.

After a while John added another finger and Paul felt stretched and grew impatient so when John wanted to add a fourth, he swatted the hand away and groaned “I’m ready, John. Get to it already”

Paul turned back onto his back while John pulled down his briefs, slipped on a condom and lined up his cock to Paul’s entrance. When he started pushing in, Paul hissed. The stretching ached and burned but he clenched his teeth and tried to relax. John lightly petted his lower stomach, soothing him as he slowly thrust in. When he was fully seated John closed his hand around Paul’s dick, giving a few light strokes before Paul urged him to move already. When he started pulling out, Paul whimpered quietly but waved for John to continue. The next thrust was still punishingly slow and elicited a strangled sound from the back of Paul’s throat which made John’s hips stutter forward. Finally, John set a steady rhythm, stroking Paul’s dick while pumping in and out of him at an accelerating speed until Paul arched up, crying out in sheer pleasure, John repeated the movement and earned another moan.  Soon the thrusts became more erratic, moans coming from both mouths as John bent down to press open-mouthed kisses on Paul’s eager lips and with a final thrust, a final stroke Paul came splattering all over his stomach, clenching tightly around the other man’s dick until John came too, burying himself in Paul one last time.

When they had both come down from the incredible high of orgasm John went to the bathroom to dispose of the soiled condom and fetch a towel to wipe Paul clean. When he returned to the bed he found the younger man asleep, damp, tousled hair splayed over the pillow and John was overwhelmed by emotions like he hadn’t felt in years.

* * *

 

Paul hadn’t known what to expect; he knew the rumours around John’s abilities in bed, mostly good reviews but it was something else to experience it himself. John really knew how to take care of his sexual partners and put that knowledge to good use. So when Paul awoke and found John looking at him with the softest expression he couldn’t help but pour out his heart.

“I don’t want to see you leave,” Paul whispered. “With Cyn. I mean, no offense, she’s lovely but…”

“Yeah I know. I feel the same,” John responded, caressing the skin on the nape of Paul’s neck. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Paul’s head.

“I need you with me” Paul replied almost pleadingly.

“I’m always with you, Paulie,” John hesitated and Paul looked up to meet his gaze. “I love you, Paul. You of all people should know that Cyn and I only stay together because of Jules…” he drifted off when he saw the flabbergasted look on Paul’s face.

“You love me” Paul repeated slowly.

“I do, Paul, I really do, like I’ve never loved before, only ever flings and quick affairs, but you, Paul, I’ve loved you for a long time now, only it’s a slightly different kind of love now.” John explained, holding Paul’s gaze.

“I love you too, Johnny” Paul replied quietly. “Just in case that wasn’t clear.”

John chuckled lightly. “Oh it was though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it. There will most likely be two sequels but I haven't written any of them yet so it could take a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to talk to me, my [tumblr](http://lokianawinchester.tumblr.com/) is where you can :D


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